


Polite Confusion

by SleepingReader



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But the spider is canon, Escape, Friendship, Gen, Giant Spiders, Gren believes in locks but doesn't believe in chains, Gren is a badass, He is the best diplomat in the country and his best friend doesn't believe in locks, Imprisonment, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:12:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: 'You took me off the mission, and locked me in this dungeon.' Gren told Viren, a look of polite confusion on his face.'Duly noted. Anything else?' Viren asked.Yes. You forgot to search me.Gren thought, mentally rolling his eyes.Instead he said: 'Uh, no. But… No. I guess those are the main two.'He hung his head in mellow defeat.Only after Viren left, Gren's bright blue eyes cast a clear gaze around the dungeon...A fic of dark places, small rebellions, unlikely allies, personal kinds of magic, and the tiniest spark of hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> .... Four dots indicate a timeskip ....  
>  **** Four stars indicate a flashback ****

‘Five past nine. I apologise for my tardiness.’ Viren told Gren, as the first walked into the room.  
‘It was only five minutes.’ Gren said politely, his wrists starting to hurt, and the bruise on his left foot growing. Soren had been less than polite when he and his guards manhandled him into the dungeon.  
‘So, what are your concerns?’ Viren asked.  
‘Well,’ Gren said, and cleared his throat. ‘You took me off the mission…’  
‘Hmm, noted,’ Viren replied. ‘Go on.’  
‘…and you threw me in this dungeon.’ Gren said, raising his fingers to indicate his surroundings.  
‘Ah, I see,’ Viren told him. ‘Anything else?’  
_Yes, you forgot to search me._ Gren thought, mentally rolling his eyes. He almost said it.  
Instead he said: ’Uh, no. But… No. I guess those are the main two.’  
‘Thank you,’ Viren deadpanned. ‘Your feedback is a gift.’ He bowed slightly, and turned his back to Gren. Then he started talking to Claudia about the other prisoner. Gren wondered who it was.  
He hung his head instead, showing mellow defeat.

Father and daughter exited the room. Claudia stared straight ahead and hummed a tune to herself. Viren looked over at the chained Gren. He smirked.  
Gren waited until the stairs had gone up again, and then his bright blue eyes cast a clear gaze around the dungeon.  
He had a mission, and he would not be deterred by something as simple as handcuffs. And for all his genius, Viren had not thought to rid him of his belongings.  
With his thumb, Gren felt his ring sit at the base of his ring finger.

Every soldier in Katolis owned one: A signet ring depicting the crest of Katolis with their personal number underneath. It was useful for plainclothes soldiers to recognise each other, and for unknown fallen ones to be sent to their families. In a way, it was more important than armour.  
And some definitely were. There was a secret in some of the rings. High ranking officers and especially skilled diplomats like Amaya and Gren had special signet rings. No one below the rank of Captain knew this, and then only Captains in the Standing Battalion were ever told.

Gren was currently attempting to push his own ring higher up his right finger, using his thumb and other fingers. It took long, and it was difficult and frustrating, with the ring etched into his skin in the long years he had worn it. The small script underneath the ring proclaimed him to be #718514. The tiny two stars on top of the ring commended the wearer as a Commander.  
Amaya’s had three stars.  
The ring was halfway up his first knuckle when he had to push it down again as someone came down the stairs. Must be dinner.

His hands were loosened. He was given a thin porridge, just enough to fill his stomach. He saw a tint of red inside. He pushed at it with his spoon. Strawberry jelly, the sort they used in tarts. It greatly enhanced the taste of the otherwise boring meal.  
The guard winked at him. It seemed he still had friends in the castle.  
She started saying something to him. He smiled at her instead, assuming a expression as of polite confusion.  
‘Thank you for the porridge. Can you tell me when Lord Viren will be back for the remainder of our meeting?’  
The soldier widened her eyes. Could Gren truly be so simple as the others said?  
‘I don’t think so, Commander. I can ask?’ She said.  
He nodded eagerly. ‘Thank you, Corporal.’  
He didn't say anything when she put him in the chains again. New chains this time. The last ones were chains to hold a man temporarily, give him enough room to move around, or even to break out if he were strong enough.  
These new chains were of the other sort. The sort that told a prisoner he wasn't going anywhere, and neither were these chains.   
  
The Corporal brought the other prisoner his dinner and climbed the stairs, wondering why General Amaya could ever put up with someone so stupid.  
She shrugged, and banished the question from her mind. General Amaya could do whatever she liked.  
Anything but simple, Gren started the long task of trying to push his ring back up.

‘I would wait with that if I were you.’ A voice came from the other room. Gren started. He stared at the crooked door. The Corporal must have let it cracked open.  
‘Who’s there?’ He asked.  
‘Just a ghost.;  
‘Ah. Okay.’ He said, and continued pushing his ring up, trying to pull himself up to get at the ring with his teeth.  
The voice from the other room seemed mildly surprised about this, but chose not to comment.

‘Okay, I’ll bite. Why would I wait?’ Gren asked after a while of trying and failing.  
Instead of answering, the voice started counting down.  
‘Three. Two. One.’ He said.  
The bells within the kingdom were barely audible, but still there. Eight o’clock. A grinding sound signalled the stairs coming down. Gren immediately feigned sleep.  
Lord Viren had come down once again to question his other prisoner, the one in the other room. Gren only caught hints of the conversation: The prisoner declared himself dead. Viren declared himself annoyed.  
Gren faked startling awake when Viren left and slammed the prisoner’s door.  
‘Good evening Lord-‘ Gren began, but the stairs had already stopped moving. Viren had gone up again. The door was closed.  
_What was that?_ he wondered.  
But this was not a time for wonder. He tried pushing his ring up again.

....

He started awake for real this time, and immediately cursed himself. Amaya had a lot to say about soldiers falling asleep on their feet. Still, he supposed he couldn’t help it much. He quickly found out why he had been startled awake. The stairs had started grinding again, and a new guard came down with two plates of eggs and a small piece of bacon.  
Saliva gathered in Gren’s mouth, unbidden.  
The new soldier once again untied his arms, and directed him to a chamber pot in the corner of the room. Gren relieved himself, and then sat down to eat his breakfast. The soldier seemed to want to talk to him, but was apparently under strict orders. He took the food to the other prisoner, and brought back an untouched plate.  
Maybe the prisoner really was a ghost. He had seen enough to know they might exist.  
But why bring a ghost breakfast?  
He noticed the soldier had left the prisoner’s door cracked again. Hmm… Odd. He resolved to take notice of that.  
‘Thank you.’ He told the soldier.  
‘You’re welcome.’ the soldier told him, his green eyes bright. Another friend.

Gren took a look at his fingers. His ring seemed looser, especially with the cold air in the dungeon. He wiggled it. It slid up easier this time.  
‘Do tell.’ the voice came from the other room. It sounded sarcastic. ‘What _are_ you trying to achieve, fluttering your fingers around like that?’  
‘So what, you can see through walls?’  
‘Your annoyed breathing is so loud I could shoot you in the dark.’  
Ah. Now Gren recognised the accent.  
‘Not that you’d need help with that, would you, Moonshadow Elf?’ He asked, mild poison crawling into his voice.  
‘With my eyes closed, then.’  
‘Thought you were a ghost.’  
‘I am.’  
‘’Kay’ Gren said.  
A pause.  
Then  
‘So you’re the one that killed the King?’ Gren asked. He had to. Amaya’s hands fluttered in and out of his vision, insisting he collect more information.  
‘Yes.’ The ghost said. ‘He stole the egg of the Dragon Prince and destroyed it.’  
‘You’re wrong.’ Gren told the ghost. ‘King Harrow didn’t steal it. He wanted the egg safe.’  
The voice was quiet, as if contemplating this.  
‘Liar.’ it then decided.  
‘Say of me what you will. Harrow didn’t steal the egg. I was there.’  
Another pause.  
‘You were there when the King of the Dragons fell?’  
‘I was there when Lord Viren killed Thunder, yes.’ Gren told him, the memory nearly breaking his voice and bringing tears to his eyes.

****

He had never wanted to be on that battlefield, or on any. Yet Amaya had need for him on that one. When that horrible backwards-sounding voice sounded… When the sky had turned purple… Gren had had a horrible feeling, as if his own heart was being ripped out. As if his own life was being drained to supply another pool of energy.  
When the King of Dragons fell to Lord Viren’s hand, Gren had shouted in anger together with many elves. He had ran forward to the mighty beast, but Amaya had stopped him, tears welling up in her own eyes. Whether they were from smoke or from sadness, he couldn’t tell.  
_’Nothing we can do. V-I-R-E-N.’_ she had signed.  
That night, in the safety of his own tent, Gren had wept like a child. To destroy something so beautiful, so powerful, was to destroy one’s soul.  
He had almost defected right there and then. He did not wish to serve a kingdom that killed dragons.  
When they had met Harrow after that, he had told Amaya personally that he did not condone the actions of his councillor, though he had ordered Viren to stop Thunder.  
‘I had meant stopping, not slaying!’ Harrow had said, his hands in his dreadlocks. ‘We killed a _dragon_!’ he said desperately.  
‘And you have destroyed an innocent.’ Amaya had told him through Gren, fury on her fingertips. She held no love for dragons, but was fiercely against the slaying of something defenceless.

****

‘Harrow gave the order to stop the dragon. King Harrow merely wanted to delay the massacre on his armies. To give his people the chance to run. Lord Viren took the order too literally.’ Gren told the Elf, the anger of the battle in his voice again.  
The Elf simply huffed.  
‘I know this doesn’t condone anything. We killed your king. And you killed mine.’ Gren told him. Then he began working the ring again.

After a while, the Elf spoke again. It sounded sarcastic, but it was a promise nonetheless.  
‘I will stomp my foot once when night falls. In that time, no one will disturb you on this… epic quest. If you don't fall asleep, that is.’

Gren wondered for a long time at that.

Claudia came by around lunchtime, to deliver some sandwiches and to question the prisoner. She closed his door again.  
Gren kept his demeanor of polite confusion, asking when Viren would be back. Claudia simply pressed his nose and went ‘Boop!’  
During dinner, the guard left the door cracked open.  
_Rebellion,_ Gren noticed. _Small, but rebellion nonetheless._  
Viren came by, and closed the door again. He ignored Gren entirely.  
About an hour after that, Gren heard the stomp of a foot.  
Nightfall.

He had worked his ring far enough up his finger to hold between his index finger and thumb. He held it tightly, and set his index finger at the small, near-invisible groove at its base. To lose the ring now would be a waste of time. But Gren had steady hands.  
A glint of sunshine in the dark, small enough to be a tiny, far-away star.  
Gren found that he could only see it when he looked at it from the corner of his eye.  
And yet, the needle-thin shard of sunfire steel was clear and embedded in the open ring.  
He raised his fingers to the nearest shackle of the steel chains, and made the smallest of cuts.  
In the quiet, the merest sliver of metal fell on the floor.  
In the darkness, Runaan heard it fall.  
In the light of his ring, Gren smiled.  
_I’m coming for you, boys._ He thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst thing about being a prisoner is not the bad food, or the visits from the jailer.  
> It isn’t even the silence.  
> The worst thing about being a prisoner is the boredom.

A warm summer’s day. A picnic with Amaya, Callum and Ezran.  
‘I’d rather have you two guarding them than all of my Crown’s Guard’ Harrow had said, munching on a jelly tart he had stolen from their picnic basket. He had held a piece up to Pip, who took it in a talon and nipped at Harrow’s ear in thanks.  
‘Now go get my sons in the summer sun.’ He had ordered, himself walking back to the throne room, and the darkness within. 

They lay on the damp summer’s grass; he, Amaya and Ez. Callum sat near Ez’s feet, drawing a deer that had snuck in closer. Amaya tensed slightly. A hunter was never off work. But Ez’s small hand on her arm calmed her down.  
‘He just wants to look at the basket.’ He told them. Gren translated for Amaya, hands forming lazy shapes towards the sky.  
A bird landed near a rock. They didn’t know they had been so quiet. 

It whistled. Ez and Callum looked expectantly towards Gren.  
He whistled back, the exact same call as the bird. The bird replied, and so did Gren. Ezran laughed, and the bird peered one beady eye at him, and twittered off.  
Gren sat up and imitated another bird, his favourite, the oniq bird, a white one that shone iridescent colors in the sunlight. Ezran clapped his little hands. They shared favourites.  
He found Amaya looking at him, a faraway smile on her face.  
_’What?’_ he signed at her, smiling back.  
_’I don’t often wish I could hear,_ ’ she replied. _’But I’d love to hear those whistles.’_  
‘They’re kind of orangey-green.’ Callum said, not looking up from his drawing.  
_’What did he say?’_  
_’He said that they’re kind of orangey-green.’_ Gren signed, while saying the same.  
‘Why’re you all looking at me like that?’ Callum asked. ‘I thought everyone knew that.’  
His dream-memory began to fade. The sun began to blur. The grass underneath his hands melted into stone. 

And then the scraping of the stairs indicated lunch.

Gren stretched as best as he could. His neck ached, and he was sure he had drooled a little in his sleep. Perhaps the memory of the picnic.  
Flipping his night and day rhythm wasn’t easy, but he at least had a small cut in the metal to show for it. He felt his bones crack as he switched feet and turned his neck to see who was bringing lunch.  
Claudia.  
But she looked worried, this time. Absent-mindedly, more than normal, she fiddled with his chains and gave him a plate of sandwiches. He put his face back into the polite confusion that he wore like a coat in this dungeon.  
‘Thank you’ He told her. She glanced back at him and smiled slightly. Then her worried frown came back. She took a deep breath.  
‘Were you ever ordered to…’ She began.  
He waited for her to say something else, but she cuffed him back to the wall and went back up the stairs, a quick ‘nevermind’ tossed lightly over her shoulder.  
Gren wished he knew.  
Instead, he napped, his signet ring safely around his pinkie finger, easy to reach and easier to take off. 

Dinner came, and with it another chance to talk to the Elf, as Soren had brought breakfast this time. The boy had bragged about his skill in things as fighting, tracking, flirting, push ups and other things. Gren had just focused on his toast.  
Soren had left again, shutting the Elf’s door tightly and had bounded up the stairs. Then he had come down again and bounded up once more, talking about ‘leg day’.  
_Never been in a battle in his life._ Gren thought to himself. _And I hope he never has to. ‘Leg day’_. he thought. 

The day blurred into one long hour of napping and waiting for dinner. And a pee break.  
It came in the form of the first guard that he had met. She walked slowly, as if her back was paining her.  
‘Are you okay?’ Gren asked, still a Commander at heart.  
‘You should see the other guy.’ the Corporal told him, smiling a bruised smile.  
Gren nodded. ‘You should know better than to fight amongst yourselves.’ He said, his mask not slipping once.  
The Corporal simply shrugged with one shoulder. Gren started eating.  
He knew perfectly well what had happened. He had once overheard Viren telling Claudia that the King was too soft on his guards. He suspected this instance had something to do with the door to the other cell.  
She left it open again when she left. 

‘Do you have a name? I keep calling you ‘Ghost’.’ Gren asked the Elf, once the coast was clear.  
‘Call me Ghost.’ Ghost said.  
‘Okay.’ Gren said, shrugging. His chains tinkled with the gesture. He had learned when to ask questions. and he had learned the best way to annoy an enemy.  
But wasn’t the enemy of his enemy his friend?  
Probably not.  
Ally?  
Perhaps. 

Gren couldn’t work his chains during the day. Too many people came in unexpectedly, ranging from Soren asking if walnuts were a fruit (‘They’re not’) to the guard bringing different stuff at different times. Food. A chamber pot.  
Gren had a lot of time to reflect. He spent it whistling and singing softly to himself. All sorts of songs, using his chains as instruments.

The worst thing about being a prisoner is not the bad food, or the visits from the jailer.  
It isn’t even the silence.  
The worst thing about being a prisoner is the boredom.

 

‘Jingle?’ Ghost asked after a while, sounding as bored as Gren was.  
‘Jingle?’ Gren replied, his face truly forming into the expression of polite confusion.  
‘Yes.’ Ghost rattled his own chains. ‘Jingle. I do sleep, you know.’  
Gren laughed out loud, the first time in some days. It hurt his stomach. 

****

He had been given a lot of nicknames in the past, ranging from ‘Red’ to ‘Granny’.  
Amaya had given him his last nickname, the letter G signed after making the sign for ‘Best Friend’.  
_’B-E-S-T G-R-E-N-D,’_ she had finger-spelled, doubling over, tears rolling down her eyes in silent laughter. That had been enough Cactus Juice for her. 

****

‘You’re a soldier.’ Ghost said. Gren startled awake.  
‘Diplomat.’ Gren said groggily. _Interpreter_ , was the word he didn’t say.  
‘An armoured diplomat.’ Ghost wondered. Gren could almost imagine a raised eyebrow in the sentence.  
‘Figure it out yet?’ Gren asked, teasing slightly. Teasing an enemy. Amaya would be proud.  
‘Ask tomorrow. Three. Two. One.’  
The bells sounded, and the stairs creaked again. Gren wondered if all Elves had such a good sense of time. Maybe it was another bit of those ‘small magics’ that he had dreamed about. 

Viren entered, carrying a large cage. Gren almost fell apart once he saw what was inside it.  
King Harrow’s bird looked like the state of Katolis without its King.. A wing was broken, and the other was clipped. He had been chained to the floor of the cage, only able to hop around a little. His head was underneath his wing, seemingly hiding from Viren.  
‘A guest to fill the silence.’ Viren said. ‘Or a meal. Your choice.’ He told Gren as he sat Pip’s cage down next to the same wall Gren was chained to. Why Viren thought that Gren would ever turn on Pip was beyond him. Pip took his head from under his wing and screeched in defiance at Viren, who winced.  
‘Loud creature’ he told Pip.  
Viren left after questioning Ghost. Ghost declared himself dead and Viren once again got nowhere. 

A stomp sounded a while later. Sundown.  
‘Don’t worry, Pip. I’m going to get us out of here.’ Gren muttered to the still-regal bird. He whistled softly at Pip and watched with a crooked neck as Pip raised his head from underneath his feathers. The black-and-green bird seemed to recognise him and hopped excitedly once or twice on the spot. He cheeped a small tune in greeting. Then Pip promptly put his head under his wing again and fell asleep, though it looked more like a healing sleep instead of a terrified one.  
Gren, instead, took off his ring again and began the long task of slicing through the chain. He was already more than halfway through the first cut, but the chains needed two cuts each for him to be able to pull the other rings through and escape. His fingers worked more strongly than the day before, though they ached. They now had the feeling for the ring and the cutting motion.  
An idea came into his head. Maybe Pip and Ghost could help track the boys. He quickly set the idea aside, put it in a drawer in his well-ordened mind somewhere.  
_Get yourself out first._ , he told himself. 

In the darkness of the room near Gren, the elf called Runaan kept his ears open for sounds of the hopeful soldier. Jingle whistled to the bird. The bird whistled back. So the man had a gift.  
A useless one, but a gift at that.  
Small flinters of metal pit-pattered to the floor. Runaan had heard about some high-ranking Human officers bearing parts of an ancient Elven weapon. He hadn't assumed they had it hidden on their person.  
Runaan’s Elven ears heard it all, even the hiss of the sunfire steel as Jingle accidentally sneezed on it.  
The soldier he called Jingle kept honour to his name, working tirelessly to open the chains.  
Nearing daybreak, the link of the chain cracked open. Runaan almost allowed himself a smile.

Gren did, and a wide one at that.  
If he kept his hands _just so_ he could hide the broken link. There were three more cuts to go, ten if you counted the ones he would need to do on Ghost and Pip.  
He tried not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You reviewed and I got inspired! Thank you so much, all of you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple act of kindness can lead to a lot...

The days continued. Claudia and Soren both stopped coming down below, so Gren assumed that they were searching for the boys. Viren had started to ignore him. Excellent.   
The two guards that had brought him food at dinner now brought him food during the day as well. The male guard, with the bright green eyes, and the female Corporal. Their wounds healed. But they kept showing the small gestures of rebelling against Viren.

He was nearly finished sawing through the second cut on his first chain. The next ones would be easier, since he would have two hands to work with. Then, he heard Ghost thump his feet twice. Gren almost wondered what it was, but then the stairs came down.   
A warning.   
The female Corporal came down, silently. She held a bowl with a brush. The male guard came down after her, carrying a bucket. He steadied himself against the wall, but a little water sloshed out of the bucket anyway. It hit the stones. It steamed.   
_Torture?_ Gren wondered, hoping the Elf in the next room would be spared. His voice sounded weaker by the day. 

The male guard sat the bucket down near Gren. He looked around and then nodded to his superior officer.   
She tilted her head to get Gren’s attention, and then slowly raised her hands.   
_’Walls have ears here. We brought bath. But quiet.’_ Her signing was slow, and she had to think about a lot of words, but the message was clear.   
Gren nodded eagerly.   
_’Help him first’_ he signed back, slowly so she could understand and nodding his head towards the cell where Ghost was kept.   
_’The Elf?’_ she signed, and Gren nodded. She shrugged and went to help the Elf, who was in a lot poorer shape than the Commander. He refused any help or bathing, miming that he was already dead, but he did allow her to sprinkle some cool water from her bowl over the tight binding on his arm. He did not thank her, but no thanks was needed. 

They came back for Gren, but Gren shook his head and pointed to a large cage near him. The Corporal held up the brush and the water bowl and used both to give Pip a bath. Pip ruffled his feathers, poofing them up and shaking them down again. He cooed a little in thanks.

Then it was Gren’s turn. While the guard stood vigil near the door, should the prisoner try to escape, the Corporal quickly helped him take off his armour and wash himself down, turning around to preserve his modesty. For the first time in a while, Gren was able to stretch himself out properly. He stomped his aching feet.   
_’Thank you, corporal’_ he signed at her after he put his armour back on. Pip whistled softly to him, a polite greeting.  
 _’May I?’_ Gren asked, pointing to Pip’s cage. The Corporal thought about it, then nodded.   
Slowly, leaning on the wall as if learning to walk again, Gren stumbled over to Pip.   
Pip edged closer to the bars of his cage. Gren stuck his fingers through and gave him a head scratch. Pip cheeped like a baby bird and leaned into his fingers. Gren whistled softly back, hoping he sounded reassuring.   
Then he stood back against his wall and raised his hands at head-height again, to be secured to the wooden block once more. The male guard did the honors, making sure he clasped the cuffs near Gren’s shirt, instead of on his bare wrists.  
As he fiddled with the cuff, Gren’s hand somehow got caught in something, and the sound of something small and metallic clattered to the floor.   
In the other room, Runaan stopped breathing, listening intently.

The Corporal went into the dark corner the object had rolled into and picked it up. Examined it. A Commander’s ring. She herself owned one, too, though bearing the single dash of a Corporal.   
_That dash might turn into a star, one day,_ she had always hoped. The ring felt warm, and not from Gren’s hand. Almost as if it was…   
Her nail caught in the furrow between the two parts and the ring opened the slightest bit.   
A glint of sunlight struck her eyes, but she closed them and the ring immediately.   
Gren coughed.   
_’May I have that back?’_ He signed at her, his blush even visible in the relative darkness.

The male guard looked confused, but the Corporal’s eyes shone a bit brighter.   
_’Yes, Commander Gren.’_ she signed, handing it back and snapping to a quick salute. Her subordinate copied her, looking even more confused.  
She _knew_ it. She _knew_ that General Amaya would have not chosen Gren simply for his good heart.  
She and Mattis went back upstairs with their buckets and bowls. The stairs started to rise up after them.   
She never even noticed Viren's guards.

Gren only heard a faint scream and what sounded like arrows being loosed.   
A deep thump sounded. Another.

The stairs shut him inside his dark prison again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A simple act of kindness can lead to a lot...
> 
> ...sometimes it can lead to two side-characters being killed. 
> 
>  
> 
> Which is kind of interesting, cause I initially thought that they were going to help him escape.   
> Kill your darlings, I guess.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five minutes to mourn.  
> Some Xadian fruit.  
> A threat.

_Five minutes, Gren._ He told himself, as silent tears threatened to spill over his lower lashes. _You get five minutes to mourn them._  
He never forgot those who were slain on the battlefields next to him. He never forgot those who died, taking a sword, or a knife, or an arrow for him or his General. He always made sure to remember their names. To get them a proper burial. To send word to their families. And to mourn them himself, for no matter how low their rank was, their lives always made an impact on the earth. When Thunder had died, when Lord Viren had sent down hell from above, Gren had seen a wounded soldier fall with the agony of Viren’s spell.  
And when Thunder had crashed down into a hopeless pile onto the ashen ground, Gren had felt like doing the same.  
It struck him that he didn’t know the names of these two guards.  
He let his tears flow freely. 

‘They were kind.’ Ghost’s voice came from the other room. His voice was not sad. More… reflective. It was also muffled, seeing as how the guard had closed the door this time. But in the quiet, Gren heard him perfectly.  
‘Yeah. Yeah, they were.’ Gren replied.  
‘A soldier that mourns for the dead. One that carries no sword, yet clatters with armour. A diplomat.’ Ghost said, changing the subject. Through his tears, Gren felt surprised. Ghost usually spoke in single sentences.  
‘I know who you are.’ Ghost said.  
Gren sniffed.  
‘You are the General’s voice. Commander Jingle.’  
Gren smiled through his tears. Sniffed again.  
‘Yeah.’ 

A minute passed. 

‘Commander Jingle?’  
‘Hm?’  
‘Get back to work.’

And he did. 

By daybreak, Gren had opened one link. The chain fit through.  
‘Well done.’ Came the voice of Ghost through the hallway. ‘Three. Two. One’  
Gren quickly put the link of his chain back.

The stairs creaked, and Viren came downstairs. He was carrying a platter, the smell of which made Gren’s mouth water. Viren completely ignored Gren, and instead went to Ghost’s room.  
Viren insisted Ghost should eat, or he’d die.  
Ghost insisted he was already dead.  
Viren insisted Ghost wasn’t, though his hand had seen better days. Then Viren mused about the Xadian fruits he had brought. That explained the scent.  
‘I have a proposition.’ Viren told Ghost. ‘I simply want you to take a look at an object, and tell me what it does. After that, I will unchain you and you can walk out of here. Decide! You can be free, or you can sit here and die.’  
_No!_ Gren wanted to shout. _Don’t give him what he wants, we both know he’s never going to release us!_  
But it seemed Ghost had the same idea.  
‘I told you,’ He said in an icy voice. ‘I am already dead.’  
‘Yes… Wait a second, I think I’ve heard about this.’ Viren said, the sound of cups rattling on the platter once again. ‘It’s a Moonshadow Elf thing, right? A philosophy of accepting you are dead so you will not ‘fear Death.’ Viren told Ghost. ‘What a beautiful challenge you’ve given me. I must come up with something you will fear…more than death.’  
He walked out of Ghost’s room.  
Gren saw him walk over again, carrying his platter.  
_If he inspects your chains, you might as well change your own name to Ghost._ Gren told himself.  
Instead, he stood up to attention.  
‘Excuse me.’ He said politely and cheerfully, the same look of polite confusion on his face that he had been carrying all week. ‘I would love to try some Xadian fruit.’  
As he had expected, Viren completely ignored him and went back up the stairs.  
Gren hung his head in mock defeat.  
‘Very good.’ He said.  
Then he slipped out of the chain and made a rude gesture at the ascending stairs, one of those he would never translate for Amaya. It felt good, though. 

‘You wouldn’t have liked it.’ Ghost’s voice came from the room again.  
‘What?’ Gren asked.  
‘The Xadian fruit. It was overripe and he ate the orange with the shell on. Fool.’ Ghost said.  
Gren laughed.  
‘He did find something that I fear worse than Death. That fruit.’ Ghost told him.  
‘Thank goodness he didn’t make me eat it.’ Gren replied.  
‘You would have spent the evening on the chamber pot.’ Ghost said. ‘As I assume he will be.’ For the first time since they had spoken, a hint of laughter was reflected in Ghost’s voice.  
Gren laughed with him, his chains jingling. 

 

Gren had not gotten food the entire day. His stomach rumbled, but he had survived on no food before. He was thirsty, though. Then again, the first cut in his other chain was deep and promised release soon.

Night came with a pained-looking Viren, who was carrying a large flat object down the stairs. Gren pretended to be asleep, snoring softly. He had never snored in his entire life, but Viren seemed to buy it.  
Viren carried the object to Ghost’s room.  
Ignoring his own pretend-snore, Gren was able to hear most of the conversation. Viren wanted Ghost to look at an object, and was trying to bribe him. Gren almost snorted.  
So did Ghost.  
‘…Don’t you know only humans can be bribed?’ He asked Viren.  
‘You are mistaken. This isn’t a bribe. It’s is a threat.’  
Gren heard metallic objects falling to the ground. For a single horrifying moment he thought it was his own ring, but it seemed to have come from the other room.  
‘Go on. Take a closer look.’ Viren’s voice sounded inviting.  
Ghost gasped.  
‘You’re a monster.’  
‘You’re mistaken,’ Viren drawled. ‘I’m a pragmatist.’  
Then he left. The stairs started ascending, but then immediately descended again. Viren came back.  
He took Pip’s cage.  
Pip cheeped in sorrowful farewell once, then the stairs rose. 

‘Jingle.’ Ghosts voice sounded weakly from the other room.  
‘Ghost.’ Green acknowledged.  
‘Get out of here. Find the princes. Find my… Find Rayla. She’s a young Elf, travelling with them.’  
‘I know her. She threatened to drink the princes blood.’  
‘She was lying. She and the princes are taking the Dragon Prince’s egg to his mother. This ‘Lord’ of yours kept it for himself. It is alive. Find Rayla and the princes. Help them if you can.' Ghost told him, his voice sounding desperate. Then, as if in a whisper: 'Leave me.'  
‘I’m almost through the last cut.’ Gren said to him. ‘Then I’m going to cut your chains, too.’  
Ghost huffed a laugh.  
‘Three. Two. One.’ He told Gren as the stairs descended once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it help to say that I am very sorry?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know what happens next.

Idly whistling, Gren watched Viren come down the stairs, carrying a bowl. Viren held his back straight, and the cane he usually used clanked on the stone steps. He cast a large shadow over the floor.  
_So he not only killed Thunder, he kidnapped the egg, too._ As if Gren needed any more excuses to hate him.  
‘Enough brooding, Elf. My patience wears thin.’ Viren said, not a moment after he had opened Ghost’s door, not even giving the Elf time to adjust to the bright light.  
Gren almost didn’t hear the sound of fabric being moved above his own whistling, but he quickly tuned himself out.  
It had been one of the most important lessons Amaya had taught him.  
‘Tell me what you know about this relic, or I will seal your fate.’ Viren demanded from Ghost.  
Ghost’s voice was almost a whisper, and echo of his former sarcastic self.  
‘You have succeeded.’ He sighed, the horror creeping into his voice.  
‘Oh, have I?’ Viren drawled.  
‘That mirror? You _have_ found something worse than death.’ Ghost’s voice sounded stronger now, but still resisting the pull of whatever sort of mirror was in that room.  
‘Then tell me,’ Viren insisted. ‘What is it?’  
The next sentence was more of a growl.  
‘I will never help you.’ Ghost told Viren.  
‘Then you are of no use to me.’ Viren told him.  
Gren whistled a little louder. He suspected that Viren would torture the Elf, and Gren hoped that his birdsong would relieve the pain. Or at least give Ghost happy memories to focus on.  
Gren started imitating Xadian birds, praying to anyone that would listen that Ghost would hear him and think of home.

A metallic clank sounded, and a form of backwards tongue that Gren had only heard once before. On a black day, with a purple sky and a mighty dragon fallen to the ground.  
The same purple glow emanated from the dungeon.  
A high-piercing whistling sound came after, like the sound of a teakettle left too long on the fire.  
Yet this particular whistle was anything but homely. Purple light mixed with grey light, and Gren tried to whistle on.  
The same pressing feeling that he had felt on the battlefield returned. As if his own life’s force, his own energy, his own loves and wishes and hopes were slowly being drained to aid in the pool of another being.

That’s when the screaming started.  
These weren’t the screams of torture. Not even of agony.  
These were the final, piercing screams of Death.  
Gren stopped whistling and stood up straight, trying to crane his head to look into the hallway.  
A last yell echoed between the grey stones, then was silenced abruptly.  
It felt like the entire dungeon held its breath.

The door creaked, and all Gren could see in the darkness was a pair of purple glowing eyes, coming right towards him…  
He flattened himself against the wall, a desperate defence.  
The purple eyes lost their glow, became as black as the ashen ground he had slain Thunder on.  
Lord Viren stepped into the light.

But it wasn’t Lord Viren anymore. His skin was ashen grey, with the vines on his face inked and stretched out in black. He held up a coin as if it was change he had received from the inn.  
‘I always seem to capture the same expression…’ He told Gren, a slight hint of curiosity in his voice. ‘Defiance, giving way to absolute fear…’ He smirked at Gren, and suddenly Gren could make out a face from the depths of the coin. A terrified Elven face, trapped inside the golden gleam.  
Ghost.  
Gren was stunned, caught like a rabbit in a trap. Viren came closer to him, still holding up the coin so Gren could see better.  
‘Oh, don’t worry, Commander…’ Viren told him. ‘Your fate is a lot more simple than this one. You see,’ Here he snapped the coin between his fingers and returned it to his pocket.  
He leaned forward towards Gren. ‘I’ve always wondered how long a soldier can go without food or water.’ It was said almost conversationally. ‘My daughter, Claudia, insists that a soldier would last three weeks. Me? I think a single week would suffice. I’ll be seeing you in seven days, Commander. We’ll see who wins that bet. Good-bye.’  
The stairs smashed shut with the finality of a coffin being hammered tight.

The footsteps had gone away. With trembling fingers, he made the last cut on his chain. It broke free. He unhooked it, and its companion from the wall, and fell to his knees, breathing hard. Bile came unbidden to his mouth, but he swallowed it down.  
A silent scream rose up in his throat, but when he shut his eyes to scream it, hands danced in front of his vision.  
Familiar ones.  
_’Amaya?’_ He signed her name to the darkness.

_’On your feet, Commander.’_

****  
_’On your feet, Commander.’_ she signed, while holding out a hand to help him up. He had fallen over in battle practise once again, and the spikes on the shield on his back had wedged him firmly into the ground. Soldiers had ran over him in hurry to finish the task, and after Amaya had given them a thorough chewing-out, she had helped her friend up. She gave him a once-over, the same one she often did on her nephews to see if they were okay. Satisfied, she poked at his armour and declared it good to go.  
_’Maybe shields are not for you.’_ she mused. _’Up you go’_

****  
_’Up you go’_ she signed.  
He stumbled to his feet, his friend’s face in front of him, grinning at him, urging him to keep going with a smile.  
_’What’s your plan?’_ she asked.  
He signed back: _’Find the boys and the Elf, help them in any way I can. Then return to you and help you lead the army against Viren.’_  
She nodded. _’And how will you escape?’_  
He looked around. Unlocked his ring and used the tiny hint of sunlight to search the walls.  
He could almost feel Amaya’s hands on his.  
_’It served its purpose. What did I tell you about prisons?’_  
_’Only a fool would build a prison he himself can’t get out of.’_ Gren signed back. An idea dawned.  
He licked his own hand until it was wet. It was a crude option, but there was no water left. He waited patiently, his hand in the air as if greeting a friend.  
And the friend came.  
The softest breath of wind hit his palm, and when he came closer to the wall, developed into a draught. A door?  
Amaya’s face floated in the air beside him. She shrugged, as if to say: _’Well? Surely you know what do do with closed doors?’_  
And he did. Using all his strength, he slammed himself into the door, and was able to open it just a crack. He looked around to see if Amaya had seen it, but she had faded back into the night.  
He was on his own.

 

But he was also the best diplomat and strategist of the country. Amaya had not chosen a fool, and Gren would prove her right.  
Gren walked around the lab in an effort to find inspiration. He didn’t find any, but he did find a large ceramic jar of black sand.  
Now for a plan. Viren would return for him in a week to see if he was dead or alive.  
_Like the Philosopher’s Cat_ , Gren thought.  
What if Viren saw a nasty side-effect of Dark Magic instead? One that he hadn’t known about?  
Gren thought for a moment, then started to take off his armour. He walked back over to the wall he had come to know very well, and dumped half of the black sand onto the floor. He piled his armour on top of it, as if it had fallen off his body. He scattered another quarter of sand over it, and then returned the rest to its shelf.  
He parted with his armour the same way a child parts with the seeds of a dandelion. Uncaring, but hoping that discarding it would bring him luck.  
Gren slipped through the crack in the door, his leftover chains jingling against the stones and his now bare wrists. He wished he could do something with them to aid the ruse, or use Ghost’s chains instead, but every step he took in the prison was a step further away from the boys. Using the rope on the inside of the door, he slammed it shut behind him.

Crystals lined the walls. He vaguely wondered if they were edible, but then banished the thought from his head. What did he expect them to be made of? Rock candy?  
Ha ha. Rock candy.  
Having nothing to drink for two days was taking its toll on him.  
Gren started walking, keeping his left hand to the wall in the hope of getting out of this maze.

He walked for what seemed like ages, but was probably only about five minutes when his hand touched something sticky. He licked his hand experimentally to see if it was water. Then he silently cursed himself for licking sticky matter off of dark cavern walls.  
It tasted like persimmon.  
‘Ez?’ He asked the darkness. It didn’t answer.  
_EZ._ his mind told him.  
He broke off a crystal from the wall, and, trying not to lick it, used it to tap the rocks and stones with the small jelly handprints.  
A hole in the wall, big enough for someone like Callum to crawl through, opened. Gren squeezed himself in, happy he had discarded the bulky armour.  
The tunnel after it lead down first, and then up.

Soon enough, the scent of hay tickled his nostrils. He sneezed. From above him, he heard a friendly snort back.  
What.  
He looked up  
He hit his head.  
‘Wooden.’ He muttered, rubbing the sore spot, somehow not surprised how he could tell the difference between wood and stone.  
But wood can break. He crouched low, and pressed his hands upwards and pushed.  
The horse above the trapdoor whinnied in protest, but moved.  
Commander Gren had reached the stables.

Ignoring the horse completely, Gren went straight for its water trough. It tasted like kissing a horse, but he had drank worse water in his time at the Breach.  
When his thirst was quenched and he had spat most of the horse hairs out of his mouth, he ventured a look around.  
A friendly nuzzle on his back almost threw him to the floor.  
The black horse gazed at him and blew air in his face.  
Gren sneezed.  
He reached out to pet it and it put its face against Gren’s belly. That’s when Gren felt the braided mane.  
Braided mane to match it’s owner’s.  
‘Mister Biscuits?’ Gren asked the large warhorse.  
Mister Biscuits, the horse of the late King Harrow, whinnied happily and attempted to raise Gren in the air with his snout. The black horse nuzzled him one more time, then pointedly turned his large head towards his saddle and bridle.  
‘Want to get out of here?’ Gren asked softly.  
Mister Biscuits whinnied again and stood ready to be geared up.  
Gren found an old horse blanket that itched, but would work against the cold. It even helped him cover his ginger hair. He nosed around the stable amongst the sleeping horses, and found a full nosebag for Mister Biscuits. Water and food would have to wait until they reached the wilderness.

Gren wrapped the hooves of a mildly surprised Mister Biscuits in another horse blanket, so his hooves wouldn’t make a sound on the cobblestones outside the castle. The horse nuzzled at him politely, but didn’t seem to worry so much about the extra fabric. King Harrow, a bad rider himself, had been given the kindest foal in the kingdom when he was a prince. The gentle foal had grown into a full-scale gentle warhorse.

He lead the black horse into the darkness of the sleeping castle. The stables were quite close to the exit, luckily.  
A cheep sounded from one of the windows. Mister Biscuits rose his head to listen to it.  
Pip.

The bird had been nagging in the back of Gren’s mind. Would he be able to save him? He would have, when Pip had been in the same room as him. Cutting his chains would have been as easy as cutting open a pie.  
But now Viren had a new place for him. And a bird like Pip would be missed. And Gren might be spotted. And killed.  
But Pip was so close.  
And could Gren truly leave a bird that belonged to the princes dead father alone in the castle?  
He sighed to himself in resignation and lead Mister Biscuits outside the grounds. Pip cheeped once more, a mournful sound.  
Gren steeled himself and ignored it. He lead the horse to soft ground at a patch of trees near the castle. There he tied him up to one of the trees.  
He petted the horse on his nose. Mister Biscuits blew air in his face.  
Gren sneezed.  
‘See you in a bit.’ He muttered to the horse. Then he took off his large shoes and ran back to the castle, silent, barefooted.

Mister Biscuits chewed on some leaves. Spat them out again. Decided to eat some moss instead.  
He was just halfway napping against the tree that the nice sneeze-man had tied him against where he was awoken by a hand to his nose.  
He startled only slightly, but raised his ears in greeting at his bird-friend. Pip cheeped tiredly at him, nuzzled Gren on the cheek, then perched onto the horse’s saddle.  
‘This castle could do with some better guards.’ Gren told the animals, putting his shoes back on. He took the wool from underneath Mister Biscuits’ feet and mounted the horse. They took off at a slow trot, to avoid suspicion.

Gren looked back to see if they were being followed. The unmistakable shape of Lord Viren stood on the castle walls.  
Gren's heart stopped.  
Yet Viren seemed to only have eyes for something else. He peered into the distance. Smiling.  
Gren followed his gaze.  
A purple beam connected two mountains. Since Viren was here, Gren could only assume that his daughter Claudia was the one casting the spell. She would be tracking the princes, too, he guessed.  
Gren squinted, and tried to locate the two mountains on a map in his mind.  
Claudia’s spell came nearer, probably from Mount Kalik.  
Gren came to a realisation. He nudged the horse into a gallop.  
The other mountain was the only mountain in Katolis he had not seen in person.  
Which could only mean one thing.

Callum and Ezran had made it up the Cursed Caldera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually nervous to post this, can you imagine?  
> I can't hold on to storylines anymore.  
> This is it. This is where the canon ends.  
> Apparently, where the canon ends, there's a horse. 
> 
> As for Pip: I planned for Gren to leave him behind.  
> But Gren refused to let me write anything more unless I got Pip out safely, too.  
> How he did it, we'll never know. 
> 
> I'm still enjoying writing this, so if you all still like this, too, Gren's journey begins.  
> I can promise at least one letter to Amaya, some food for our boy, a dash of angst and some unlikely friendships on the way. 
> 
> Your lovely reviews have kept me writing. Your clever questions have kept me editing. And your kudos keep me posting.  
> Thank you for that.


	6. Into The Open Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Inn, and a well-deserved rest before a long journey.

He only noticed the headache when he had gotten five miles from the castle. The sun was bright, too bright after sitting in the dark for so long. His chains were heavy and chafing around his wrists. Pangs of hunger beat around his stomach, and, if he was completely honest, he was getting saddle-sore after a week of standing.

****  
‘ _H-A-N-G-R-Y_ ’ He spelled out for Amaya, after Ezran had introduced them to the new term. _’It’s like being so hungry that you’re angry._ ’ He told her.  
She nodded, and spelled it. Then she combined the signs for hungry and angry and used it forever to refer to Corvus.

****

Gren’s stomach rumbled again and Mister Biscuits slowed down and tried to turn his head sideways to see what was wrong. Gren patted him on the nose.  
‘Gotta find some food, buddy. Get these chains off. And heal Pip. And… I’m talking to a horse.’ He said to Mister Biscuits, who walked on, but turned his ears back to listen to Gren.  
It was a good thing that he had travelled this land often, going around with Amaya on errands. Otherwise he never would have found the inn again.

It was called The Bucket, and it was always open to the ‘different’ crowd, as the sign above the door said. The owner, a talkative, slim person that was neither male nor female but almost certainly human, greeted Gren while cheerfully standing in the garbage bin, attempting to stomp it down. They immediately leaped out, more graceful than Gren could ever accomplish.  
‘Good grief man, what happened to you?’ They asked as Gren dismounted and stretched his legs. ‘Why on Earth are you wearing _chains_?’ They took Grens hands in their own and examined them. ‘Who put _you_ in _chains_?’ The italics were clear in the owner’s voice.  
‘Lord Viren.’ Gren told the owner, whose eyebrows suddenly threatened to marry their hairline.  
‘Lord _Viren_?’ They asked. Then they shrugged. ‘Guess we could’ve seen it coming. Dark magic and all. You need a bath.’ They told Gren. ‘You go put your horse in the stables, I’ll get a bath and a meal up to room eight.’  
‘Thank you, Ask.’ Gren told them. He lead Mister Biscuits to the stables where the black horse immediately began chomping happily on some hay from a bushel that hung from the ceiling. Gren took hid bridle and saddle off, scraped his hooves and gave him a good brush-down.   
‘You’ll be okay here, Mister Biscuits.’ Gren said to the horse, patting his neck. Mister Biscuits neighed and shook his head happily, smacking Gren in the face with his braided mane.  
A small cheep sounded from inside a bundle of blankets next to the saddle, and Gren gently lifted the bundle of itchy horse blankets containing poor Pip. His wings had been clipped, and the leg that had been chained to the cage was raw and bloody. Gren hoped that some meat and a bath would do Pip some good too. He patted Mister Biscuits on the nose once more in farewell, and walked into the inn.

It was a quiet day. The regular old men that you always get in any inn sat around the table, and looked up when Gren walked in, just to see if he was the sort of fellow that might buy a pint for an old man. And under any other circumstances, Gren was exactly that sort of fellow. Not now, however. He jingled across the room and went up the stairs, carrying the bundle of blankets and feathers that was Pip in his arms. The innkeeper named Ask waited for him near room number 8. They took one look at Pip and leaped off to grab a medicine bag from a nearby closet. They then left Gren alone to get cleaned up, with the promise of a dinner and someone to cut off his chains when he came downstairs.  
Gren thanked Ask, and opened the door to his room.

If he had worn his armour, it would have fogged up. The signet ring on his finger did, instead. The bathtub in front of the small fireplace was filled almost to the brim and was gently steaming away under its blanket of lavender foam.  
_Ask, always looking out for the underdog_ Gren thought. The Bucket was a place for exactly those people, and its innkeeper was so generous that every single one of those people ended up tipping.  
He sighed as he settled into the hot foamy water, and almost immediately ducked his head under to finally wash his hair. The ginger locks fell across his forehead and into his eyes when he came up for air. He wiped the foam from his face as he looked at Pip, who had shook himself out of the blankets and was standing on the table near the bath, on one leg. Gren whistled softy at him. Pip whistled back.

After he had cleaned himself thoroughly, Gren stepped out of the bath, his chains still jingling around his wrists, dripping with water droplets. He dried himself off, and, not wanting to leave Pip behind, brought the bird downstairs.

A meal of bread, honey and cheese waited for him, alongside a pint of the ale he preferred. He hadn’t thought Ask would have remembered, but they always did. As Gren sat down and put Pip onto the table, Ask came by, holding a bowl of raw meat and dragging one of the old men by the arm.  
‘Tanner here will have a look at your bird - He breeds carrier pigeons!’ Ask told Gren happily, pushing the old man towards the table. They produced a pint of ale from no where and gave it to the man, who took a long sip before looking slightly cross-eyed at the bird and busying himself with bandages and salve.  
Ask danced off again, this time promising to find a smith somewhere in his patronage.

Gren was already nodding slightly away at the table, having gotten not only the bread, honey and cheese, but also a small plate of the pot roast of the night. ’(You can’t stuff yourself now, otherwise you’ll get sick!’ Ask had told him while placing the plate in front of him.)  
Heavy footfalls descended down the stairs. Gren was startled awake by a high-class voice ringing through the room.  
‘Anyone needed something cut?’  
The room fell silent. All eyes looked towards Gren, who raised his shackled hand. It jingled.  
The man stepped into the light.  
He wore no armour, yet walked like a soldier. Or at least, Gren thought privately, the son of a nobleman really wanting to be one. His shoulders were made bigger by a large fur-lined cape, and his pinstriped trousers basically screamed _rich_. The large moustache on his face was the bigger tell, though.  
‘Commander Gren, as I live and breathe!’ The man yelled at him in his posh voice. He walked over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘How is the General?’ He asked, looking around for Amaya.  
‘Good-evening Humpherey. She’s back at the Breach. I’m on my own mission.’ He told the man quietly. ’So sorry, but do you mind..?’ He asked, holding up his wrists. ‘They’re starting to chafe.’  
‘Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all.’ Humpherey told him, and produced the sun forged blade from its sheath and set to work carefully slicing Gren’s chains.  
‘I almost lost this one, you know.’ He told Gren as he worked. ‘A horrible Elf-maid tried to rob me, but I was able to fight her off.’  
Gren doubted that, since, after rats and snakes, Humpherey’s worst fear was elves.  
‘Where did that happen?’ Gren asked.  
‘That little town, near the Cursed Caldera,’  
Gren almost yanked his hands back. ‘Was she alone?’ He asked, keeping his hands still at Humpherey’s worried glance.  
‘Not sure. Those assassins are never truly alone…’ the man said darkly, starting on Gren’s other chain.  
When he was done, Gren thanked him profusely.  
‘Don’t mention it, old sport.’ He told him, though Gren was sure the man was his senior. He sheathed his dagger again, bid Gren good-bye, and trundled up to his room again.

Ask came bounding down again, telling Gren that a bed was made for him and if he would stay one or two nights.  
‘And Gren? Get yourself some new clothes, please. I will _literally_ pay to see you out of that under-armour. Anyway, need anything tonight, just Ask and ye shall receive.’ They told him, and Gren thanked them again for their kindness. He opened his mouth to ask for the price, but Ask interrupted him.  
_’Don’t even speak about money in my presence._ Ask signed. _’I will never forget what you and Amaya have done for my brother.'_  
Gren nodded to them in acknowledgement.  
He went to the stables, to check up on Mister Biscuits, and found him sleeping peacefully on the hay. Gren smiled at the black horse, then went upstairs to his room, where a bandaged and cared-for Pip cheeped happily at him from his nightstand.

 

He didn’t feel how tired he was before he touched the blanket. And he didn’t notice how long it had been since he had slept in a real bed until he laid his head down.  
For now, safe in the downy sheets and the darkened room that smelled of warm wood, Commander Gren was finally able to release the emotions of the previous nights. The pain in his legs of standing up, the headache from the bright light, the wounds on his wrists from the iron chains, and the hurt in his chest and the guilt in his stomach for leaving Ghost behind.  
He cried, because he needed to.  
The last thing he registered was the soft press of the mattress as Pip hopped onto it and put his head underneath Gren’s hand.  
Then he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... actually not that happy with this chapter. But it needed to be written, since the boy needs a bath and a meal and an okay-ish Pip before he can continue on his journey. So here have a restful chapter before shit hits the fan and I send our boy up the Caldera.
> 
> You may have noticed that the titles of the chapters have changed, since I can imagine that life in a prison is very dull and repetitive, and life 'in the open air' as you could put it is more of an adventure, and therefor deserves a proper title.  
> Title from 'Into The Open Air' the song from Brave.


	7. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't go 'round tonight  
> It's bound to take your life  
> There's a bad moon on the rise

The sun rose as Gren did, stretching out his aching muscles while standing on the wooden floorboards in the room in the Bucket. There was a knock at the door.  
Ask, who had a peculiar talent for knowing when people were awake, stood in front of it, carrying a tray laden with breakfast. They also had what looked like clothing thrown over their shoulder.  
Gren started to protest, but Ask would hear nothing of it.  
‘You saved my little brother from being taken to Thunder knows where. I owe you. Consider this part of the payment, if you will.’ They put the tray on the table and laid the clothing out on the bed. An emerald green tunic (that Gren was sure was chosen so it would clash with his hair) along with a black cloak, brown trousers and two new pairs of socks and undergarments. As Gren was looking at the new clothing, a bag of coins fell onto the bed. There were a lot of them. Enough to buy new armour, should Gren have wished it.  
He also knew that the amount of money Ask had given him would be enough to feed himself and three younglings for a week.  
‘Ask.’ Gren said. ‘I consider your debt beyond paid. Thank you.’ He turned to them, and raised his hand to his chest in the familiar form of a Katolis soldier.  
Ask hugged him. ‘Whatever your quest is, bring them home.’ They told Gren. 

After a quick trip to the town’s marketplace, Gren saddled Mister Biscuits once more. With a slightly more steady Pip balancing on his shoulder, they made their way towards Mount Kalik, and the Cursed Caldera. 

 

It took them a day’s ride. Mister Biscuits was strong and energetic, Gren was well-rested and even Pip seemed more chipper. When the evening fell, Gren saw the familiar twinkling lights of the Caldera’s town in the light snowfall. He wrapped his cloak around himself once more, and rode into town.  
A snowman wearing what seemed to be carrot-horns sat sagged under the weight of the freshly fallen snow. Gren smiled at it as he went past. He loved snowmen.  
He found a nice stable for Mister Biscuits for the night, saw to it that he was unsaddled and settled, and then went in search for information about the Caldera. 

And as always, he found it in a bar.  
It took him a while to scope out the odd ones, the ones that were nursing their drink in quiet wonder, or bewilderment, or trauma. The loud and boisterous were full of stories, but it was the quiet ones Gren needed to listen to tonight.  
‘Mind if I sit here?’ He asked the moustached man who sat staring at a painting of a woman holding an egg.  
The man grunted in assent.  
It didn’t take long for the man to start talking. 

Night fell.  
Mister Biscuits in the stable fell asleep in the familiar scent of hay. Pip slept near him, head under his wing.  
Two travelling siblings got lost twice but eventually turned their horses in the right direction. Their bickering could be heard through the forest.  
The first star appeared.  
A girl and her three-legged wolf quietly descended from the Caldera, and went home.  
The moon rose.  
Three children played fetch with a dragon on their way to Xadia.  
Night passed.  
The bar emptied. An old man told a young one to stop by his hospital in the morning. 

In the morning, the animal doctor Gren had met the night before was kind enough to provide him with blinders for Mister Biscuits. Gren didn’t know how scared the trained, full-scale war horse would be, but decided it would be better to bring them anyway. Pip, he knew by now, put his head under his wing when he got scared.  
‘So, these kids family of yours?’ The animal doctor asked him, idly scraping out some grit from underneath’s Mister Biscuit’s hooves.  
Gren wished he was. ‘As good as.’ He said.  
‘They’re safe enough. Safer than you’re about to be, going down the Caldera tomorrow in broad daylight. That’s a challenge, that is.’  
‘A challenge for whom?’ Gren asked.  
The animal doctor looked around, as if he thought his own horses would spook if he said it out loud.  
‘The bloodmares.’  
Gren looked at him with an expression of polite disbelief.  
‘I’m pretty sure they’re not real.’  
‘That’s what they all say… But I’ll give it to ya, you’ve got heart, kid. You just need a weapon. Now for a sword you’ll want to talk to…’  
‘No. No weapons.’ Gren’s voice was finite. ‘I’ll bring a walking stick for the snow, and that will have to do.’  
‘A soldier without a weapon…’ The animal doctor wondered. ‘I’ve never heard of a soldier with no weapon, unless you count General Amaya’s…’ he trailed off.  
_’And that would be me.’_ Gren signed to the man, while the doctor stared at his hands. Gren stuck one out. ‘Call me Gren.’ He said. ‘I won’t be bringing a sword, but there are some things you can help me with…’ 

 

He set off for the Caldera around ten. He would reach the first steps at high noon. Then, the long climb up the mountain. He decided he would just have to face the horrors should he want to reach the boys before Claudia and Soren did. Word around town was that a pair of siblings had been looking for three children, but a jokester had pointed them in the wrong direction. 

 

….

Gren took a deep breath once night fell.  
‘I’m sorry, Mister Biscuits.’ He told the horse, putting on the blinkers. Mister Biscuits didn’t mind much. To show him that it was okay, he blew air in Gren’s face. Gren sneezed.  
As long as that nice sneezy man gave him a nosebag from time to time, Mister Biscuits would follow him everywhere.  
They walked around what seemed to be the rotting corpse of something very large, and began climbing the mountain. 

Eyes crept out from everywhere. Giant glowing faces in the dark. Creatures up ahead, underneath, and right behind him. Chitters, hisses, growls. Inaudible whispers that were almost words. Words that almost made sense. Thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp. Creatures of the night that didn’t quite grasp him.  
But General Amaya had picked no coward.  
Hushes came from the quiet, and while Gren wanted to turn around to look at them, he knew he couldn’t.  
_If only I brought blinkers for myself…_ he thought. Pip had already buried his head under his wing a long time ago.  
_The kids must have taken this path as well…_ Gren figured. He wondered when he had started calling them ‘the kids’ in his head, instead of ‘the boys’ or ‘the princes’. A glowing face up ahead roared at him, but he closed his eyes and went on. 

He was so deep in thought that he almost walked straight into the web. Even with his blinders, Mister Biscuits could smell that something was no good, and caught the back of Gren’s hood in his teeth, pulling him back.  
Nevertheless, Gren’s cloak flowed forward with the momentum, and struck the web. He pulled it loose.  
Something felt it move.

Gren couldn’t go around, but the thin edge of his walking stick proved to be equipped enough to cut through the web.  
Something felt it fall. 

Gren stepped over the empty sac that may once have held a human. It crumbled into dust, uttering a mournful cry. Gren pushed on, leading Mister Biscuits.  
Something felt them walk. 

Gren hid behind a large tree near the clearing, where the chittering sound of fangs and too many legs was the loudest. He dared to sneak around a glance.  
The giant spider stood with its back to him. It was raising its front legs almost rhythmically.  
Amaya would have attacked.  
But Amaya wouldn’t have looked.  
Just on cue, a piece of bark fell from the tree. The spider glanced sideways, but continued to raise its legs.  
Gren started forward.  
The spider heard him move.  
The spider didn’t care. 

It turned around, almost meekly. Raised its legs towards Gren and started stomping them on the ground.  
Gren stepped backwards, but the spider wasn’t advancing.  
It wasn’t even threatening him.  
It was…

‘Is that Callum’s jerkface dance?’ 

….

A chittering and the tap of a arachnid leg against a human chest.  
‘I’m trying to tell you, I don’t know how it goes!’ Gren said to the creature, what seemed to be for the millionth time. He knew the spider couldn’t understand him, but it felt better to talk to it than to say nothing.  
An unholy scream pierced the night.  
‘Fine. I’ll try.’ 

….

A passer-by would have stopped to gaze at the sight. The ginger man had discarded his cloak, and was attempting to teach a bipedal dance to an eight-legged creature.  
‘So then you bend your knees and you raise your arms- no your arms, arms are the ones in front. There you go. - Like this and then you crouch… Knees higher! Knees higher! Yes! Now you try by yourself.’ 

….

‘No, really, I can’t. Bye Bob!’ Gren told the spider, leading Mister Biscuits away. He had been forced to sit through three consecutive dance routines before the spider was willing to let him go.  
Meanwhile, the soft hint of dawn was edging over the Cursed Caldera, which Gren was now pretty sure was a misnomer.  
He knew he would have to stop soon, for both his and Mister Biscuits’ sake, but if there was a legend about bloodmares on the other side of the mountain, he would have to be alert for something. Even if there were no such things as bloodmares, every legend had a measure of truth. 

Mister Biscuits shook his mane, not tired anymore after his nap. While the nice sneeze-man had watched the larger-than-the-ones-they-got-in-the-stables, Mister Biscuits had napped on the forest floor. He would like to be rid of his saddle, but if the nice sneeze-man needed him, Mister Biscuits would be there. 

Gren had heard about bloodmares. Strange, lamprey-like creatures that latched onto thoughts of passers-by and made a dream especially for them. They had many different names through the Five Kingdoms. Sirens. Mermaids. Kelpies. Bloodmares. If it was a good dream, or a bad one, no one knew. It was even said that some of them could shapeshift. Tale went that once they got a hold of your dream-state, the bloodmares would start to suck out your imagination.  
Gren thought that the _tale_ had no imagination. 

The trees on this side of the Caldera were less brown and broken and more whole and pine-tree like. Their sweet smelling sap dampened the air and made the bark sticky. Gren lost his stick when he idly tapped it against a sap-laden tree. It got stuck and no amount of pulling could get it loose.  
There was a little flash inside his brain, like the little flash you get when you’re just about to fall asleep and you’re startled awake. 

The sun was all the way in the sky now, and it was bright and beautiful. A warm summer’s day with a picnic basket between the four of them. Amaya, Callum, Ezran and he. A bird sat on a rock and he whistled at it.  
Only he didn’t.  
Because none of this was real, was it?  
He startled awake, and was just in time to pull the bloodmare off of his shirt sleeve.  
He held it in his hand, quickly examined the wiggly fish-like body, and then cast it off in between the trees.  
So they were real.  
He looked behind him to see Mister Biscuits carrying three of the fiends on his back. His eyes were closed and he was chewing on his bit as if it was a carrot. Gren quickly threw them off Mister Biscuits’ back, and covered the horse in one of the blankets he had brought to sleep on. He quickly checked if Pip was safe, and then led the horse in a quick pace through the wood. He attempted to shake the broodmares off as fast as he could, but some got to him anyway. There were thousands crawling on the ground now, swarming like ants.  
A flash in his brain. The purple sky of Thunders demise.  
He woke up.  
Another flash brought him the memory of the bathtub at the inn. It seemed so long ago now.  
He woke up.  
Flash. Ghost. Wake.  
Flash. Jingling chains around his wrists, the wish to hurry in his heart. Wake. He was already so close…  
Flash. His mother, holding him to her hip, singing to him. He almost closed his eyes…. Wake! Wake!! 

….

‘If I have to see this gross spider dance _one more time_ , I’m going to cut its head off.’ Soren whispered to his sister.  
‘If you do that, I’m going to make _you_ do the dance.’ Claudia whispered back, before cheering the spider along. You’re doing great, sweetie!’

….

With a last pull of Mister Biscuits reins, Gren made it to a clearing. The bloodmares that had been wiggling after them came no closer. He must have reached the end of their territory, he thought.  
_Or they must not like fire…_ he added, spotting the faint glow in the distance. 

The fire became clearer as he came closer. A hunched figure sat in front of it, warming their hands. Living, breathing. As real as he was. Her armour was dirty, but still gleamed. She must have felt the hooves of his horse on the ground, because she turned towards him. She must have found the princes’ trail as well. Amaya.  
He stood to attention.  
‘I’ve missed you so much, my friend. Those bloodmares are a menace.’ She told him.  
He looked at her with the sort of deadpan expression only the truly annoyed can have.  
‘Not very convincing, to be honest.’ He told her.  
She raised an eyebrow, and then stepped forward, her arms outstretched.  
‘Why not, Gren? I’m here now, right? At ease, Commander.’  
‘No thanks.’ He punched her square in the face. She crumpled to the ground.  
‘Amaya doesn’t talk. Next time you pick someone’s brain, learn how to sign.’ He said to the crumpled form of the large bloodmare on the floor. 

When he turned his back to her, she made one last sound. A clap to get his attention. The sort of clap Amaya would make when she wanted him to make an announcement. The sort of clap that he would always, always listen to.  
And, like a fool, he turned.  
Her spit hit him right in the eyes.  
There was no room to think, to breathe, to blink. They were shut immediately. The acid crept into his eye sockets. The spit hardened immediately.  
‘AAAAAHHHHHHHHGHHH’  
He screamed. He fell to his knees. Clawed at his eyes with breaking fingernails as he fell to the ground in a blind panic.  
Giant spiders he could face. He could withstand glares from kings and queens and politicians. He had gotten out of Viren’s dungeons. He could stay upright in a fight, he could defend himself with fists and kicks where necessary. He could wake up from dreams caused by bloodmares and diseases.  
He had seen the sky turn purple and had screamed when Thunder fell.  
And he thought that had been the worst.  
But this? This was the one fight he hoped he never had to face.  
For what use is a sign interpreter that can’t see?  
Everything Amaya had chosen him for was dropped to the ground. All bits of bravery, focus, diplomacy, determination lay scattered in the clearing. Everything he was, he lost when the bloodmare spat her poison into his eyes. 

The world was dark, his eyes burned. Gren wept, breathing harshly, curled up into himself, right on the slopes of the Cursed Caldera, so close to the boys and the Elf. So close to seeing what he thought of as a part of his family again.  
Now, he could only see the darkness in front of his own eyes. And the despair that lay there.  
The substance in his eyes felt like it was crawling underneath his eyelids, filling his tear ducts and eating his eyes from the inside-out, like a poison brewed especially for him. He felt it harden inside.  
He curled up tighter, and whimpered softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you got your things together  
> I hope you are quite prepared to die  
> Look's like we're in for nasty weather  
> One eye is taken for an eye
> 
> Don't go 'round tonight  
> It's bound to take your life  
> There's a bad moon on the rise...


	8. Here Comes The Sun...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do-do-do-dooo...

A soft huff.  
But what did it matter? He was like Ghost, dead already. Lost, hopelessly turned around on the slopes of the Caldera. No Callum. No Ezran. Not even an Elf.  
No Amaya.  
He curled up tighter, his breathing irregular and somehow making him feel worse.  
Another huff. It ruffled his hair. A snort. Soft lips stroking his cheeks. A distinctly horsey breath.  
A warm weight fell beside him. A head on top of his shaking shoulder and side.  
It felt. Grounding.  
His breathing slowed, just a little. The head exhaled slowly. Gren did, too.  
‘Mister Biscuits?’ He asked, his voice raw from the emotion and the panic.  
Mister Biscuits blew air into his face.  
But for once, Gren didn’t sneeze.

This was a sign for Mister Biscuits that something was terribly wrong indeed. A close nosey inspection of the nice sneeze-man’s face produced that the man was wearing a foul-smelling blindfold. It smelled brown, streaked with grey, like the stuff that was around the mouth of Not Battle-Friend.  
But Mister Biscuits liked the sneeze-man too much to worry about a dirty blindfold.

If horses could smile encouragingly, Mister Biscuits would have as he felt Gren’s hand upon his back. If he could gently cheer him on, he would have as the man hoisted himself up into his saddle. He stood up, and Gren slumped forward, exhausted.  
Sneeze-man probably couldn’t see because of his blindfold.  
That was okay. Mister Biscuits could see for him. Even if Mister Biscuits was wearing blinkers himself. Bird-friend would have to help.  
The horse looked at the bloodmare. It still looked a little like Amaya. Mister Biscuits stomped on the creature. It squished a little and died. Bird-friend hopped to a branch and cheeped.

A soft cheep sounded in Gren’s ear. Pip? He whistled back. Pip replied. They whistled on and off, Pip sometimes sounding far away, and then close by. They walked away. Mister Biscuits seemed to be following the sound. Or maybe Gren was?  
Gren didn't know it, but the sun had begun to rise fully now, casting light on the trees and on the crumpled form of the Amaya-bloodmare that lay behind them.

****

‘So I get that the bloodmares _are_ real, then.’ Soren said to Claudia as their horses crossed the meadow. Claudia had been able to keep most of the bloodmares away, though Soren had gotten a flash of his father talking to a mirror. Claudia had gotten rid of it.  
He saw her shrug. ‘Guess so. I always thought they were a fairy tale to get me to go to sleep.’ she said. 'Didn't know they could shapeshift, though!'  
‘But why would a bloodmare take the form of Amaya?’ Soren asked his sister, a confused expression on his face.  
‘She doesn’t scare you then?’ Claudia asked teasingly.  
‘No! Of course not.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Nothing scares me.’

Claudia suddenly assumed an expression of fearful discovery and began signing frantically to someone behind Soren.  
He turned around swiftly, all blood in his body racing. She was coming for him, he who betrayed her favourite commander. Rage and silent fury would be waiting for him. A battle he could never even hope to win. He almost didn’t dare look.  
But he did.  
No one there.  
He turned back. Claudia was almost falling off of her horse with laughter.

****

The sunlight of the early morning crept through the trees. Birdsong pierced through the quiet wood.  
A young elf with white hair and purple tattoo-markings under her eyes looked up suspiciously. After the Cursed Caldera, Rayla didn’t know what to believe anymore. A leech? Wanted a snack. A spider? Just wanted Callum to do a funny dance. A dragon that could only be born in the eye of a storm, and had then relieved her from her binding, all in one night. She was just happy to be on the other side of the bloodmare forest. Nasty creatures.  
But this birdsong sounded even more eerie than whatever the bloodmares could conjure.

She lay one hand on Callum’s sleeping form, and he awoke immediately.  
‘Whazzit?’  
‘We’re not alone.’ Rayla said softly, crouching in battle-mode, swords at the ready. Callum nudged the sleeping Ezran with his foot, who was attempting to cuddle both Bait and Zym at the same time.  
He woke up gently, trying not to disturb the animals.  
‘How can you tell?’ Callum asked Rayla.  
She held up one finger. A whistle trilled through the forest.  
‘That’s no wee bird.’ She said darkly.

‘No, it isn’t.’ Ezran yawned sleepily. ‘Birds don’t talk like that. This is… Wait.’ He murmured, rubbing his eyes.  
‘Callum?’ He asked, while Callum was trying desperately to form the sign for _aspiro_.  
‘Not the time, Ez.’  
A large bird flew through the bushes. It landed on a rock near Callum. It looked at him with an inquiring eye, as if it was checking to see if it was him. Then the bird trilled out a call, which was answered by someone in the trees. Something started to click in Callum’s head.  
‘Ezran, wait!’ Rayla yelled at Callum’s brother, torn between protecting Ezran and protecting Zym.

But Ezran had already started forward. He talked over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the treeline.  
‘Who do we know that can whistle like birds? The _only_ person we know that can do that?’ Ezran prompted.  
Right on cue, the bushes parted. A large warhorse slowly walked through, carrying a man on his back. A man that was as unlikely as a giant spider enjoying dancing. A man carrying no sword, and no armour.  
A man they thought would never be parted from his General.  
The man whistled to the bird.  
Ezran smiled widely. Callum’s eyes widened in a mixture of wonder and anxiety. They spoke in unison and shock as the man fell of the horse.  
‘Commander Gren!’

****

‘Come _on_ , Bait. His eyes are shut! Lick them open like the way you did with… No Zym, I think it’s better… well, if you insist.’ The young voice chimed above him. Gren wished he knew for certain who it was.  
A faint pressure on his forehead as a small scaly nose sniffed him. Then, with the first touch of a soft tongue, faint cracks started to appear on the hardened slime of Gren’s blindfold. With every lick, they grew.  
A crack that sounded like sugar breaking, and Gren saw the first streak of light blind his eyes.  
Until clouds swam in Gren’s sight, and the soft light of the moon washed over his pained eyes. The acid-like feeling started to dissipate, until Gren wondered if it was ever really there. The agony of the hardening spit underneath his eyelids was almost gone. He found his tear ducts started working again, first the left one, then the right. His eyes teared up, trying to help whatever was cleaning him to clear the bloodmare saliva.  
A few more licks from what seemed to be a reptilian tongue, and Gren found himself lying on his back in a soft meadow. Three faces looked at him from above. Two he knew well. One was new.  
New and definitely dragon-like.

‘Boys.’ He breathed out. Still feeling woozy, he sat up. Rubbed at his eyes.  
Ezran leapt into his arms. Callum stayed behind, looking torn between Gren and the Elven girl, who stood nearby.  
The little iridescent dragon sniffed around Gren for a bit, then buried himself between kid and the Commander.  
‘Are you forgetting…’ the accented voice of an angry Moonshadow Elf came from behind them. Ezran started. Gren turned his head to look at her.  
‘…That my General gave the order to shoot you. ’ Gren finished her sentence. ‘And I verbally confirmed it. I have not forgotten. And at the time the order was given because a Moonshadow Elf was kidnapping the sons of my General’s sister. The princes of the kingdom, the very people we have sworn to protect since I signed up. And… my friends.’ He said softly, hoping he was not out of line with his outburst. Ezran hugged him tighter.  
‘Well, don’t think I’ll forgive you this easily.’ Rayla snapped at him. Ezran went to fetch Bait, who was croaking at the bird.  
Gren continued, standing up to face the Elf.  
‘If I had known what was going on then, I would have reacted differently. I would have let you go, or would have provided an escort to the border of Xadia. Or to the breach itself. I should have listened better. To all of you. I’m truly sorry.’ He told the trio.

A nudge in his back almost threw him to the ground at their feet. He turned around to see Mister Biscuits nosing at him, trying to smell if the foul-smelling blindfold had magically disappeared. Mister Biscuits was satisfied, and blew air at Gren’s face, who immediately sneezed. Mister Biscuits, glad with the return of his friend, whinnied happily and shook his mane, smacking Gren in the face.  
‘You brought Mister Biscuits.’ Callum stated. He sounded strong, but Gren noticed that there was a slight shake in his voice. ‘And Pip. You showed up with the animals our dad owned. I think we’re owed an explanation.’

And Gren gave it to them. He never thought of himself as a good storyteller, but he was a diplomat, and as such, was painfully familiar with telling families about the demise of a loved one.  
He told them everything, no holds barred. About Virens treachery, his own imprisonment, and the death of King Harrow by the hands of a Moonshadow Elf he called Ghost.  
His heart broke when he heard Ezran say the words a child never should say.  
‘I guess we already knew.’  
Callum sighed, and nodded.  
‘Callum, Ezran…’ the Elf, Rayla, began. ‘I should have…’  
‘No. You shouldn’t have. We already sort of knew.’ Callum told her, a faint smile on his face. Ezran walked over to her, and hugged her.  
‘It’s okay, Rayla.’ He said. ‘Well, not completely, but it will be.’  
She hugged him back. Then she stood up again, and walked to Gren. She still looked at him with suspicion in her eyes, but there was something else, too.  
‘This Ghost-person in the prison. Did he… Did he mention me?’ She asked, her eyes starting to tear up a little.  
‘He did.’ Gren said. ‘He was brave, braver than I could ever be. I was going to free him, too, but…’ Here he stopped, guilt turning his stomach into lead. He felt tears rising in his eyes.  
‘That Viren put him in a coin.’ Rayla said.  
A soft hand slid into Gren’s. Ezran looked up at him, encouraging him to go on.  
‘He told me about you. Not a lot. He said you were a young Elf, travelling with the princes to protect the Dragon Prince’s egg. To take it to its mother. He told me to help you where I can. And he told me to leave him there.’  
Rayla smiled tearily. ‘That sounds like Runaan.’ She said, wiping her eyes.  
So that had been Ghost's name. Gren wished he could put a face to the voice and the name. He found that the name suited the voice quite well.

 

....

 

‘I was told to help you in any way I can. So tell me. How can I best help you?’ He asked the trio, as they started walking down the mountain, Gren leading Mister Biscuits. Rayla was rather suprised at the adult looking to her for orders, but Ezran and Callum somehow knew exactly what they needed.  
‘We’ve been having trouble finding food…’ Ezran suggested.  
With a soft ‘Ah!’, Gren opened a pack that was hanging from Mister Biscuits saddle, and produced a loaf of bread, some dried beef, and a small packet of jelly tarts. Ezran tackle-hugged him for that.

Rayla was striding ahead, with a sullen and hungry expression. _Why couldn’t these stupid humans pack some Elven food? Showing up here, covered in bloodmare spit, and only bringing food for other humans._ Rayla thought bitterly.  
A voice came from behind, and it was clearly directed at her.  
‘I haven’t gotten much experience with Xadian food yet, but the marketplace did sell these…’  
She turned around to see the ginger man holding three Xadian oranges. Her mouth started to water and she almost ran towards him. That he had taken the time to find food not only for the boys, but for her as well, spoke of a good heart. Plus, Zym liked him...  
‘Forget what I said about not forgiving you.’ She told Gren as she took the oranges from his hands, looking gratefully into his eyes. ‘I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start again. I’m Rayla’ she said, holding out a four-fingered hand. 'You're a Commander...?'   
‘Call me Gren.’ Gren said, shaking her hand. ‘Ghos- Runaan told me that eating the orange peel gives you indigestion. Is that true?’  
‘You have _no_ idea…’ she said darkly. Gren laughed instead. ‘What is it?’ she asked him.  
‘Viren didn’t know that.’  
Her laughter echoed through the forest.  
Zym bounded up to Gren, and he bent down to pat him.  
‘Hey little guy! I haven’t even thanked you for helping me see again.’ He told him, stroking his frilled head. Gren produced some dried beef and fed it to the little dragon. Zym purred at him, and put two paws on his knee, smooshing his face against Gren’s shirt.

....

After a few miles, Gren felt arms circle his waist. He turned around to finally give Callum a proper hug.  
‘’M sorry.’ the boy murmured into Gren’s shirt.  
‘Me, too.’ Gren told him. They broke apart, and fell into a comfortable stride.  
‘Hey, Callum?’  
‘Mm?’  
‘How come the giant spider made me teach him the jerkface dance?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the sun, and I'll say...  
> It's all-right.


	9. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sealed letter gets delivered.

Armour was scattered all around the floor of the large tent. Some of it hung on a chair near the little travelling desk, upon which a helmet rested. A large sword was propped up next to it, against the rough canvas of the tent. A breastplate next to it, near some folded-up clothing. Large shoes stood near the door. A blue, silver and golden shield on the floor. A hand rested protectively on it. Attached to the hand was the occupant of the tent, her back to the wall. General Amaya breathed lightly, her breath ruffling a lock of hair that had fallen over her mouth. On the other side of the tent was an empty bedroll, deserted for a while, belonging to her best friend and most trusted lieutenant. She had not seen or heard from him for five weeks.

And if she underestimated him, she would have been worried. A frown would have shown on her sleeping face. Her eyes shifting restlessly beneath her eyelids. The hand on the shield would have been curled into a fist. Fighting against an unknown enemy.  
But she didn’t.  
Instead, her face was soft, as gentle as when she spoke to her nephews. Her eyes were still, gazing out on the cool waterfall in her dreams. Her hand lay limp and peaceful on her shield, welcoming the coolness on her skin. She wasn’t one for underestimation. And certainly not for Gren. She had trained him herself, after all.

If he had been laying with her in the tent, he had woken at the rustling of the tent flap, opening. And if he had missed that, he had been woken by the soft footfalls in the tent. And if his sleep was too deep, he surely would have been roused by the clatter of Amaya’s armour as a heavy boot hit it. He would have awoken, and would have dealt with the threat, or he would have tapped her softly on the shoulder. Three times. He always did.  
But he didn’t. He wasn’t there.  
Instead, General Amaya was awakened by two stomps on the ground. She stirred out of her sleep, immediately alert. She would have grasped her shield if it was any less or more than two stomps.  
She raised her head to look at the Captain standing in her tent. He held a candle, so she could read his lips.  
‘I am sorry to wake you, General Amaya, but a letter has come in from a village near the Caldera. We believe it’s from Commander Gren.’

If she hadn’t been awake before, she surely was now. She signed a quick _’Thank you’_ to the soldier, and reached for the letter. The soldier left her the candle and left.

She smiled at the neat handwriting on the envelope. The unbroken wax seal, with the definite two star stamp of a Commander’s signet ring. If she looked closely, she could make out the tiny number: #718514. Gren.  
The handwriting confirmed it.  
There was one thing that concerned her, however.  
Gren had written in code.

_Aedz Gbnhzai Apiyx..._  
Gren would only write in code when there was incredibly sensitive information in the letter. She started translating it, writing the correct letters underneath with a pencil.

_Dear General Amaya_

_I hope this letter reaches you in time and in good health._  
_First, let me affirm to you that the princes are safe and well. I wish I could have written to you sooner, but a complication arose that we have both foreseen, though our timing was incorrect._  
_Lord Viren is a traitor to the crown and to the Five Kingdoms._

The letter went on to explain Gren’s imprisonment, his subsequent meeting with Ghost, Viren’s dark magic and Gren’s escape. His search for the princes, the Caldera and the bloodmares.

_Bloodmares are real?_ Amaya thought, frowning slightly at Gren’s plight.

Then Gren told her about the Dragon Prince and the Elf. That could not be true. The egg of the Dragon Prince was destroyed, and she had never met a Moonshadow Elf that didn’t want to kill her. Her hate of the Elves and of Xadia ran deep, deeper than her love for her own country. Gren must have been brainwashed by the Elf. She knew some of them could do illusions enhanced by the moon.  
Her armour was half-on when she noticed the last sentence.

_Should you not believe me, please find enclosed an image drawn by Katolis’s best artist._  
Keep your soldiers away from Viren, Amaya. The Elf was not the only one to die in that dungeon.  
Until we meet again, may your shield be strong.  
Gren.

She stuck her hand in the envelope one more time and retrieved a drawing. The brushwork and the colors could only ever come from one person. She unconsciously made a C-shape with her left hand, the letter in her right.  
Callum.  
The drawing depicted Gren, sitting on a rock, telling a story. Ezran at his feet. Next to him, leaning on another rock, the Moonshadow Elf. She looked peaceful and friendly. They were all looking at Gren, seemingly captivated by his tale. But that was not what drew Amaya’s gaze.  
On top of Gren’s head, nestling in his ginger hear, sat a small, iridescent, unmistakably happy dragon.  
Amaya dropped the letter. This changed everything. Viren had lied. Her entire world had lied. These children were… friends. And Gren was not slain by the hand of a vile Moonshadow Elf. Her nephews had been safe all along.  
What was more: The Dragon Prince was alive.  
But this didn’t mean that the fighting at the Breach would be over soon. Viren would get suspicious, and might start the search himself. Maybe the one Elf was the exception to the rule. Maybe Ezran had talked her over to their side. Maybe the Dragon Prince’s return would mean nothing. No, they would have to keep it up, with minimum casualties to either side, until the Dragon Prince was safe in Xadia. What would happen after, she didn’t know.

She noticed something on the back of Gren’s letter. When she read it, she laughed. She couldn’t hear it herself, but she felt it escape her chest. Apparently, Gren had had some time to think.

_Gren’s Four Step Plan To Get Out Of The Dungeon:_

_1: Get out of Dungeon._   
_2: Find Princes and get them to the Xadian border. Beyond if needed._   
_3: Get back to Amaya and help her lead the army against Viren._   
_4: Put Viren in Dungeon. That’ll teach him._

Amaya looked at the drawing again. Her gaze softened. The Elf was leaning forward, listening intently to Gren talk. She held an orange in her hand.  
Trust Gren to make friends in the most unlikely places.

Now for a hard choice. Should she go to her friend and her nephews and ensure the safe return of the Dragon Prince, or should she stay at her post?  
It took only five seconds before she made her decision. She put on her armour once more, and returned to the Breach.  
_Gren’s got this. Whatever it is._  She thought.


	10. You've been.. Thunderstruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Na na na na na na na na...  
> THUNDER!

Rain lashed through the forest. Even though it was summer, some of the trees seemed to have decided that autumn was the way to go. Large wet orange leaves stuck to their shoes and under the hooves of the full-scale war horse that walked with them. They kept their heads bowed under their hoods, dragging their feet across the muddy forest floor. How he managed it, they didn’t know, but the small iridescent dragon was napping peacefully on the neck of the warhorse, who seemed to have accepted this development with polite confusion.

Rayla had been yawning for the last half hour, making Callum yawn as well, setting Ezran off, who made Gren yawn.  
‘We should rest soon.’ It was suggested twice. There was nodding in agreement.  
The group went on. Rain lashed their faces and soaked their clothes.

‘How far away from the border?’ Ezran asked, trying to shake some water out of his hair. The drop of water dangling from his nose flew into the forest.  
‘Couple more days. And then we’d still get to the Queen of the Dragons. Zym’s mum.’ Rayla told him. She shivered. The rain pearled up on her cloak managed to drizzle into her boots from time to time.  
‘How long will that take?’ Callum this time, looking like a cat that had fallen into the pond. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, keeping his precious sketchbook dry under the cloak Gren had brought for him.  
To his surprise, it was Gren who answered. ‘Well, we would have to ask directions for that, since dragons travel around so much.’  
After a questioning look from Rayla, he shrugged: ‘Knowing where the enemy is was part of my job.’ She pondered this for a moment, then shrugged.  
‘That’s fair.’

Thunder sounded, startling the group. Mister Biscuits the warhorse flicked his ears back. Zym stuck his tongue out in his sleep. Ezran ducked reflexively, and Callum drew closer to his brother. Rayla scoped the skies for signs of lightning, and Gren frowned.  
‘That doesn’t make sense.’ He said. ‘The air pressure isn’t right for thunder.’  
‘Also part of your job?’ Rayla teased. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re right, though. This is not real thunder. I don’t have a thunder-headache.’  
‘You can tell when storms are coming?’ Ezran asked.  
‘Just changes in weather, and I can tell you, this is not thunder.’

They walked forward, until they came to a crossroads. Gren was the only one tall enough to wipe the mud off the road sign, and then he had to stand on his tiptoes.  
‘Ah.’ He said in mild amusement. ‘I think I know where that noise came from.’  
The kids read the sign.

**Thunder Monastery**   
** <———**   
**Please keep noise to a maximum**

Below the signs lay some battered-looking pans and a couple of steel pipes. A covered wicker basket filled with earmuffs sat beside it.  
‘Free pans?’ Callum asked, picking up one of the pans and examining it.  
‘Free lodging.’ Gren said tiredly, picking up a steel pipe and handing it to Callum. He grabbed five earmuffs and led the way to the left. Explanations were deemed too tiresome by the collective group.

It didn’t take long before explanations were no longer needed. Large metal sheets swayed from the trees, making a hurricane of noise as they were shaken by the wind and the rain.

Gren wordlessly handed out earmuffs, making sure to fit a particularly large pair onto Mister Biscuit’s head. The horse allowed it, though thunder and general battle sounds never bothered him a lot. The noise was overwhelming nonetheless, vibrating deep into their chests. The path seemed to be leading towards a dark hill.

Gren motioned to Callum. Callum tentatively raised the steel bar to the pan and hit it. It made a _clang_  sound. Not satisfied, Gren signed at him. _’Louder.’_  
Callum tried again. Still not loud enough. Rayla had had enough of the rain and silently took the pan and the bar from him.  
**_’CLANNNGGGGG. CLANNNNGGGG'_**  
The sound and the effort made her bones shake. Her teeth rattled.  
But it was succesful. A small light went on near the top of the hill.  
Gren’s eyes lit up.  
He walked over towards Mister Biscuits. Gently took Zym in his arms and lifting up an earmuff flap, whispered in the horses ear. Mister Biscuits stood to attention. He started whinnying and stomping his front hooves on the ground. Gren led him forward a few feet, where cobblestones had been put into the forest ground. The clopping of the hooves added to the sound Rayla was making.  
Gren put the still-sleeping Zym on a low-hanging branch.  
Then he turned to the kids. He put his hands to his mouth and mimed shouting. Ezran caught on quickly, and began yelling. Callum joined in. Then Gren gave a piercing whistle and began singing along very badly to Rayla’s pan-clanging. Soon, their noise drowned out the noise of the metal sheets in the forest.

Another light went on in the hill. More and more lights turned on. A pattern emerged in the lights as the monks in the monastery woke up.  
‘WHAT IS THAT?’ Callum shouted, trying to get over the noise. His shout caused the last light to go on.  
It was a lightning bolt.  
Then, all lights darkened at once. The monastery was dark once more.  
‘DO WE MAKE MORE NOISE?’ Rayla shouted, still banging her pan. Gren nodded.  
A blinding flash of light, and the entire monastery was illuminated. When the foursome had gotten their eyesight back, they finally saw the monastery.  
What had seemed to be a grassy hill was now bricks and mortar made entirely out of pure bright stone that shone with a light from within.  
‘Starbright magic’ Rayla whispered, then remembered that no one could hear her.  
Monks started filing out of the monastery, all wielding pots and pans and making as much noise as possible. Gren answered by singing louder and jumping up and down on the stones.Pip flew above their heads, wings cutting through the rain. He screeched.  
Rayla banged the pan harder, and the monks answered with their own deafening choir. It almost sounded good.

The monks, still making their ear-splitting fanfare, came to a halt. One stepped forward. He raised his hands and then lowered them, the universal sign for ‘quiet’.  
Gren stopped singing. Rayla stopped banging the pans, and with a slight tug on his reins, Mister Biscuits stopped stomping his hooves.  
The lead monk nodded to someone behind him.

Four monks rolled a huge gong through the doorway.  
To the still-confused Callum, it suddenly became very clear what these monks worshipped.  
Painted upon the gong was a picture of the Dragon King himself. The father of Azymondias and the ruler of Xadia. He was surrounded by lightning bolts and seemed to be roaring to an unseen foe.  
Thunder.

The head monk bowed to Rayla, who had been making the most of the noise. He reached out his arm, and gently led her forward to the gong.  
Then all the monks collectively put their hands to their ears.  
‘Well, I’m all awake now!’ Rayla said, smirking. She raised her steel pipe, and with a swing of her hips, brought it down upon the huge gong.

The sound of the gong’s thunder rolling through the forest can’t be put into a single word. Instead, it can only be described by a series of moments.

The moment Rayla struck the gong, the kickback of the hit rung through her steel pipe and into her arms.  
The steel pipe clattered to the ground.  
The ground started to shake. Leaves on trees began to rustle all by themselves. It seemed the very rain turned sideways for a minute.  
Zym woke up.  
A nearby squirrel decided to move out.  
The monks clapped politely.

One of them took the reins of Mister Biscuits and led him to a warm stable that had been treated against the deafening sounds.  
The monks began filing back into the monastery, banging their pots and pans and singing loudly once more.  
Gren turned back to pick up the small dragon and followed the monks. He didn’t know what the monks would do when they saw the little dragon, but there was no way he would leave Zym out in the rain, even if he seemed perfectly comfortable. Gren wrapped him up in his cloak instead. Zym chirped happily and burrowed inside.

The monastery doors shut behind them with a loud CLANG.  
As much as the outside was white, the inside was dark. As their eyes got used to the darkness, they began to spot small streaks of lightning running through the walls.  
Rayla took off her earmuffs and sighed. The sound of rain and distant fake-thunder was still audible, but in a more homely way now. There was a bleeeeep in her sensitive ears and she rubbed them vaguely.  
One of the hooded monks smiled to her.  
‘TAKES SOME GETTING USED TO!’ He shouted, taking off his hood and showing his own horns and pointy ears. ‘WELCOME TO THUNDER MONASTERY!’  
‘THANK YOU!’ Rayla shouted back. ‘YOU’VE BEEN VERY LOUD!’ She sat down on a bench near the door. The monk she had talked to seemed satisfied and happy with the response, as if she had told him that he was pretty.

A bit further, Gren was shouting to the head monk. It was hard to tell because of her ears, but it was obvious that they knew each other.  
Then, Zym decided to poke his head out of the cloak-nest in Gren’s arms.  
The head monk’s eyes widened. Then he pointed to Zym and announced the arrival of the Dragon Prince with a loud:  
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa…hhhhhh … hhhh.’  
Another monk turned around to see what the commotion was and dropped all of his pans. Zym chirped.  
After a while, Commander Gren began to sign while he shouted all the explanations.

Rayla, from her warm spot on the bench, finally saw the two men nod to each other and shake hands.  
Green turned back to the children.  
‘Weee’ Green attempted to say, but in his conversation with the head monk, his voice had gone raw. He saw the kids could barely keep their eyes open. He shook Callum gently and signed something to him. Callum stood up and hoisted Ezran onto his back. He followed the monk Rayla had complimented. Zym yawned again and clambered up Gren’s trousers to settle on top of his still-drying hair.  
Gren nudged Rayla, and she stood up blearily.  
‘Room?’ She murmured. Gren read her lips in the semi-darkness.  
In response, he pointed to the ever-changing lightning bolts on the walls.  
They led her to the corridor Ez and Callum had gone into. Gren walked beside her, carrying Zym.

They had all been put into the same room. A double bed for Callum and Ezran to share, a soft single bed where Gren pointed Rayla to, and a simple soldiers mat near one of the walls.  
It was the mat Gren finally allowed himself to relax on. Amidst the sound of the rain and of the sleeping children, it was easy to pretend he was back in the tent with Amaya, listening to her quiet breathing and falling asleep to the now-real storm raging outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small filler chapter with a fun new religion.  
> Cause all fics need filler chapters  
> Hurrah! 
> 
> Posted without Beta reader or general coherence.  
> i'm very tired.  
> Here. a fic  
> hope u like  
> i sleep  
> bye


	11. Should I Stay Or Should I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning comes and brings questions for Gren.   
> Breakfast comes and brings the need for earplugs

Corporal Gren was hard at work collecting dewdrops. Why his commanding officer had told him to do so, he didn’t know, but an order was an order. Crawling through the wet grass with a cup in his hand, he carefully shook the plants until dew fell. A little mouse was disturbed and squeaked indignantly at him before scampering away. He could almost see it shake a little fist.   
He raised a hand to his ginger hair and ran his fingers through it. His hair was wet, too. He attempted to squeeze some of the dewdrops into the cup. A loud shout from his officer told him that he definitely shouldn’t have done that. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing once, and went back to work. A small pine tree brought enough drops to fill his cup a little more. The song of a soldier digging a new toilet could be heard over the swift morning rush of birds. Gren focused on the task at hand.

A few more moments of this, and his downward gaze was drawn upwards by the appearance of a heavy boot. Attached to it was a leg. And a person.  
A General.   
He almost hit his head on her shield trying to stand up and salute. He nearly dropped his dew-cup. Then, his hands formed the almost-familiar shapes of a proper greeting, the way his older cousin had taught him.   
_Good morning, General A-M-A-Y-A’_   
She raised an eyebrow at him. Then she hoisted her shield onto her back to talk to him.   
_You speak sign?_  
 _Yes ma’am._  
 _Are you fluent?_  
He responded by pointing at the digging, singing soldier and translating his song.  
 _Pick a simple pipe above_  
 _Make yourself someone to love_  
 _In your hair the west wind blow_  
 _And join the fishies down belooooow_  
She raised her hands above her head and shook them. It took him two silent seconds to realise what she was doing: Applause.   
_Thank-you ma’am._ he signed to her. Then, at a cough and a glance from his commanding officer, he quickly dropped to the ground and began collecting dewdrops again.   
Suddenly, he felt strong arms underneath him. Though she was quite a lot smaller than he was, General Amaya had no problem lifting him to his feet.   
She stared at his cup. ‘ _What did you do?_ ’  
Gren’s commanding officer strode up to them and saluted Amaya.   
‘’E was tryin’ to befriend the enemy in the midst of battle, ma’am.’  
‘I gave a dying soldier back his sword so he could die in triumph.’ Gren protested while signing to Amaya.  
Amaya signed something to Gren’s commander.   
‘Sorry, ma’am, I don’t…’   
Amaya sighed. She started miming.   
‘She says that… It was good of the Corporal to do it. He should not be punished for respecting his enemy.’ Gren interrupted.   
His commanding officer narrowed his eyes at him, but did not question Gren’s honesty. He knew Gren was the most honest of all of his soldiers.   
Gren turned to find Amaya smiling at him, a hint of an idea in her eyes.   
_’I may just have a job for you, Corporal…?’_  
 _’G-R-E-N, ma’am.’_   
_Corporal G-R-E-N.’_ she replied with a nod and a half-smile. 

****

He woke quietly, like he always did. It almost felt like his knees were still wet from the dewdrops. The woolen blanket draped over him had not moved during the night, unlike Ezran’s, whose blanket was tangled in his legs and Callum’s, who had decided his blanket was more use for an extra pillow. Gren’s internal clock told him it was not yet dawn.   
His internal map told him they were only three days away from the border, where an outpost of the Standing Batallion held defence.   
He had promised himself and Amaya to take the princes to the border, and beyond if needed.   
Though now, in the early hours of the morning, he was starting to doubt if he was needed at all. Rayla had proven quite the warrior, and Callum had quietly told Gren about his mage’s abilities on the second night. Ezran had done a great job of keeping the egg safe, and the three had managed to hatch it during that storm. No, Gren was quite sure that the trio would reach the Dragon Queen safe and sound.   
Plus, he needed to be at Amaya’s side for the battle against Viren. She would need her voice back.   
_But would she condone you leaving the princes?_ a cheeky voice in the back of his head said.   
The voice had a point. Amaya would never forgive him or herself if something happened to her nephews.   
But Rayla was one of the best warriors he had ever seen, and he himself never carried a weapon. What use would he be in a fight? Politely requesting them to leave? Practising diplomacy on the enemy? Making friends with it?   
Visions of large hairy apes attacking the kids swirled in front of his eyes. Visions of himself, of Gren, with his hand outstretched towards it in a polite attempt to introduce himself.   
He would not last fifteen minutes.   
_But Amaya needs you at the Breach. She’ll need her voice back before the end of the battles_   
The voice in his head had started to contradict itself.   
Gren sighed softly and pressed his palms to his eyes. As a reflex, he finger-spelled the alphabet to calm himself down. 

 

A sound made him sit up.   
Rayla sat on the edge of her bed, attempting to finger-comb her tangled hair. Gren smiled at her and reached for his pack. He pulled out a fork and held it out to her.   
‘Am nae a mermaid, Gren,’ she told him with a smile, but took it from him anyway. It worked better than her fingers. A single strand of her white hair drifted to the floor, where it rested on the nose of the sleeping Zym, who woke himself up with an enormous sneeze that seemed to shake the walls. A passing monk clapped politely. Bait croaked in annoyance. Ezran woke up, accidentally kicking Callum awake trying to get out of his blankets.

And how could he even think of leaving them? These three kids, who had made the time in the dungeon worth every single minute. These three kids, who had helped him get out of the bloodmare venom, and who had accepted him into their little group in a heartbeat. Little Ezran, so excited to talk to Gren about what names Mister Biscuits called him. Callum, who only on the second night dared to speak about his newfound abilities, a light of enthusiasm kindling in his eyes, the way it used to do when he talked about art. And Rayla, whom he had never expected to get along with but already thought of as family.  
‘ _Duty before family, Gren_ ’ the hands of his older cousin told him. If Gren shut his eyes real tight, he could still see Bein leave for war.   
Bein hadn’t had a voice in his first battle. Bein hadn’t been able to ask for help from the doctors.   
Amaya had a voice. Him.  
But Claudia and Soren were still on their trail.  
Gren’s decision was three days away. Surely, he would be able to come up with something by then. 

 

Breakfast with the Monks of Thunder was, suffice to say, loud. Callum was glad for the wax they had received after they exited their room, for the monks insisted on welcoming the morning by banging pots and pans together. The large dining hall was lit by the mysterious glowing lights and a large fireplace, next to which stood an enormous block of clay. 

When their simple breakfast of hot tea and porridge ended, the meaning of the fireplace and the clay block became clear. The first monk to finish eating stood up in silence, carried their bowl over to the nearest wall and with a loud battle-cry, threw the bowl at the wall. The other monks applauded politely as the bowl broke and smashed onto the floor. The remains of the bowl were sweeped up and thrown out the window. Then the monk who had broke their bowl got themselves a large lump of clay and set out to make a new one.   
’For dinner.’ Gren explained, signing while he spoke. Then he stood up and threw his own bowl at the wall with a cry that sounded like ‘YEET’   
Amidst the polite clapping, the red-haired Commander got a new lump of clay and started fashioning a new bowl too.

When Rayla had finished, she managed to smash the bowl so hard that one of the pieces flew across the room and into the back of the head of the main-monk, where it broke again.   
The man came over to her. But instead of telling her off, he shook her hand enthusiastically. Though her ears were still blocked by the wax, Rayla could make out that she was welcome to join the monks whenever she pleased. 

The heavy rain had stopped when they exited the monastery. Gren had been given a pack of rations consisting of a couple of apples and some bread and cheese. One of the Xadian Elves living in the monastery had refilled Rayla’s supply of Moonberry Juice. Mister Biscuits was brought around to the front, Pip sitting on his saddle. A dozen of monks had joined them to see them off, despite Gren’s polite protestations.   
The head monk turned to Gren.  
‘For when you need to make a quick escape.’ He told him, pressing a small box into the Commander’s hand. Then the head monk raised his hands, and the twelve monks standing outside took instruments from the folds in their cloaks and brought them to their mouths. They took a deep breath.

It took two hours for the ringing in their ears to quiet down. 

Ezran was the first to hear the birds whistling again. Then Gren, and Callum. Poor Rayla, with her sensitive ears, heard it last. They crossed a small but deep river, all taking turns riding on Mister Biscuits back, who seemed exited to cross the river multiple times. He especially liked it when the water came up to his neck in the deepest part. 

‘What’s the box?’ Rayla asked Gren while they stood at the far bank, waiting for Ez and Callum. Gren could hear her voice was still a little rough from all the shouting at the monastery.   
‘They call it a Ruckus, it’s an enchantment that makes a really loud noise, for a distraction.’ He handed her the box. ‘You’d better hold on to it.’ He said.   
She looked at him questioningly, but she was smart enough to think of the reasons he might have for giving the box to her.   
‘Thanks.’ She said, and tucked it away. ‘Hey Gren?’  
‘Mm?’ He said, helping Ezran off of Mister Biscuits.  
‘Do you happen to know where we could get a primal stone?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now here's a question to YOU, my dear readers!   
> Would you like to see Gren accompany the kids to the Dragon Queen herself,   
> or would you rather see him back with Amaya to fight against Viren?   
> I would love to hear from you!
> 
> Have a very happy yule/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Omisoka/Fiesta of Our Lady of Guadalupe/Christmas and a New Year full of the things you love best!

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy yaay this was something I really wanted to write!  
> Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> If you spot any inconsistencies, let me know.  
> See something you like? Let me know, too!
> 
> I also hereby swear that this fic will have no relationships whatsoever, except for those that are already canon. (Like Harrow and Sarai)  
> I just saw 'The House With A Clock In Its Walls' and we need more stories with just pure platonic friendship.  
> Cheers!
> 
> Come shout at me through Tumblr!  
> sleepingreader.tumblr.com


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